


The Royal and The Bastard

by Walkinthegarden



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bastard Legitimized, F/M, Gen, House Baratheon, House Lannister, House Stark, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, King Gendry, King of Westeros, Myrcella Lannister - Freeform, Prisoner Protection, Queen Myrcella, Queen of Westeros, bastard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 04:44:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkinthegarden/pseuds/Walkinthegarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Myrcella kisses him, because in a better life, where things had gone just a little bit more right, they might have been brother and sister. She kisses him because he is the truth she’s always wanted and the truth she feared she’d never have. She doesn’t love him, not how he loves her, but she will always be grateful for what he did for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Royal and The Bastard

**Author's Note:**

> I was disappointed when I couldn't find anything for these too, so I made one.

Gendry knows nothing about ruling. Why they picked him to lead the realm he doesn’t know, but they did.

 

They drag people before him and they tell him that the people deserve to die. Arya agrees with _them_ most of the time, but occasionally she calls for clemency, and when she does not know either way her comely sister steps in with her soft words of wisdom.

 

For the most part, Gendry doesn’t question what they tell him. He still feels inferior to them, like he has been all his life. He feels their cruel eyes on him, judging his every move and laughing at his every mistake. He wasn’t raised like them. He doesn’t know how to rule anything.

 

Only Sansa has kind eyes. Not to say she is his only true ally, but Arya is harsh and prefers to tease him where Sansa is sweet and encouraging. Sansa teaches him about court and the courtesies of the highborn. She quickly becomes his greatest council. It is her who convinces him to have the Iron Throne ripped away and melted. It is her that arranges for five beautiful thrones to be carved out of hard wood and placed in the Throne Room. She says one is for the King, one for the Queen, two for the two eldest heirs, and one for the Hand of the King.

 

On the last day of trials and executions they drag a beautiful woman before him. She’s as old as Arya he thinks, with a mess of blonde curls matted with dirt and grim. She looks as if she has been beaten and he hates to think on why her clothes are ripped.

 

They tell him she is Myrcella, the daughter once thought to be sired by his own father, but in truth, was sired by her uncle. They tell him to have her killed along with her bastard brother. Arya agrees while Sansa says nothing. She is watching him curiously, Sansa, as if she is waiting to see if he will make the right decision.

 

He looks down at Myrcella, on her knees with her wrists shackled behind her like she could possibly be some sort of threat, head bent so he cannot even see her face, and shoulder bloody from what he suspects to have come from a metal boot. After a long moment of looking at her, he knows he cannot allow her to die, but he also knows it is not so simple that all he need do is pardon her. Finally he turns to Sansa, who occupies the throne meant for the Queen.

 

“I do not want her to die,” he whispers to her so Arya does not hear.

 

“She will never be safe even if you pardon her, unless…” Sansa trails off, her blue eyes boring into his, sizing him up for something he does not know.

 

“Unless?” he presses.

 

“Unless you marry her.”

 

~:~

 

Myrcella knows she is destined to die. She long ago accepted her fate; so she keeps her head bent when they drag her into the Throne Room before the bastard of the man she’d spent her life calling father. She wants to laugh at the irony.

 

Her head snaps up when she hears him say she will not be killed. She is further shocked when he announces that should she accept, he would like to not only legitimize her as a Lannister but marry her as well. He proclaims that she is just a child, no more responsible for her parent’s sins then he is. People yell but the Lady Sansa quiets them. Myrcella notes just how much of a wolf her brother’s old betrothed has become. People are most fearful of her yet they love her so dearly. Myrcella knows it is Sansa that whispered what King Gendry needed to do to keep her safe.

 

They take her away to the apartments of the Queen in Maegor’s Holdfast. There, servants scrub her clean and style her pretty hair in a modest but beautiful Southern style, pinning a hairnet in place and dressing her in a robe before going to find her a gown.

 

Myrcella smiles and laughs at the turn in her fortune. She can hardly believe that she is going to be the Queen of Westeros despite all her mother and brother did. Slowly she rises from the bed, towards the table that holds a silver hand held looking glass. She picks it up and peers in at her reflection, hardly believing that the beautiful girl looking back at her is herself.

 

She hears her door open and she turns to find Sansa walking towards her with a soft smile on her face. Two handmaidens come in behind her, carrying something over to the bed.

 

“You look beautiful Myrcella,” Sansa tells her with a smile as she reaches out and rests her hands on Myrcella’s arms.  

 

“I can hardly believe any of it,” Myrcella breaths, “thank you.”

 

“You were always innocent of wrong. You deserve to be happy,” Sansa tells her with a smile, wrapping her arm around Myrcella’s waist and gently leading her to the bed. A beautiful gown is laid out upon it. It’s of gold and red and Myrcella gasps when she realizes it was the one her grandmother had made especially for any future granddaughters. Cersei had taken it instead and coveted it, never allowing Myrcella near it. A lifetime ago, Myrcella told Sansa about it and how she wished to wear it as she was always meant to.

 

“Sansa…” Myrcella breaths, reaching a tentative hand towards the gown.

 

“We will have others made for you, but this will do till then I expect?” Sansa asks with a smile.

 

~:~

 

Gendry is more nervous then he cares to admit. In a matter of minutes, the woman he’s pledged to marry is going to enter the Sept. She will come towards him in the center aisle and then they will be married. Sansa and Arya stand at the front of the crowd to his right. Sansa is smiling encouragingly as she always does and Arya rolls her eyes at him. They both make him feel better.

 

Then the doors open, and Myrcella comes out dressed in ivory, her arm interlaced with that of her brother. Sansa had thought it would be best to have her come in on the arm of her brother. She had said that given their paternity it would be good for the court to see her brother perform the duties of only a brother, but he thinks Sansa did it more to give Myrcella an added comfort. Still, he says nothing to contradict her.

 

Myrcella looks so small next to Tommen. Sansa says he grew much in the former princess’s years away from King’s Landing. His bride is holding her head high as she comes near him, but he sees the uncertainty in her eyes.

 

The minute he takes her hand, some of the stress visibly melts away from her shoulders.

 

~:~

 

Myrcella is surprised when she sees the smile on her soon to be husband’s face. She feels safe again, because that smile tells her everything she needs to know. He will not be the husband Joffrey would have been to Sansa. He will be better, kinder.

 

They exchange the words of man and wife and she can’t help the smile that spreads across her own face as he twirls her around to look at their audience. Her brother is smiling and clapping while Sansa gives her a sweet smile of encouragement.

 

When Sansa takes her back to her chambers to change into a proper gown for dancing, Myrcella cannot help the tears that cloud her eyes.

 

“Myrcella, what is it?” Sansa asks her sweetly, to which Myrcella only cries harder.

 

“Is it terrible that I wish my mother were here?” she asks, looking up to see Sansa’s eyes soften with empathy.

 

“No, it is never terrible to want for your mother,” Sansa assures her as her arms wrap around her.

 

~:~

 

Arya is not happy with him, not since he decided to spare Myrcella under Sansa’s advisement. She accuses him of being in love with Sansa and his head spins at the accusation. He doesn’t understand why she thinks that. His heart has only ever belonged to Arya but he asked her once he became King if she would consider being his Queen and she had laughed at him. What did she expect of him? To wait until she saw it fit to say yes or return North?

 

He’s grown to care deeply for his wife since their wedding. She carries his first child in her belly and he loves just being with her. He spends his early mornings kissing her neck and her hair and his evenings on a blanket of gold by the Blackwater, kissing her stomach and lips.

 

He thinks maybe he’s falling in love with her. She’s so kind and sweet and the people love her.

 

~:~

 

Myrcella kisses him, because in a better life, where things had gone just a little bit more right, they might have been brother and sister. She kisses him because he is the truth she’s always wanted and the truth she feared she’d never have. She doesn't love him, not how he loves her, but she will always be grateful for what he did for her.


End file.
